


I am a queen, understand

by Ahavaa



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Eventual Threesome, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahavaa/pseuds/Ahavaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Foggy's a grown man,” Matt said, evenly, “and I don't have custody of him,” which was the kind of passive-aggressive cute shit that drove Marci nuts.  </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"I'm going to ignore that," she said, "for my own sanity, unless you really want to have that discussion right here right now."  </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>He considered it for less than a second.  "<b>No</b>," he said.  </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I am a queen, understand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saeto15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeto15/gifts).



"...and that's about it, honestly," Foggy finished. He was lying naked, on his back, studiously staring at her ceiling like the big coward that he was. 

"Do you have permission to be telling me all of this?" Marci asked. She really couldn't think of anything else to say. _Matthew Murdock_ , that prissy weirdo, of all people. Daredevil. Shit. She knew a genuine - well, sort of genuine - superhero/out-of-control lunatic, depending on where you got your news. 

"Yeah," Foggy said. _Now_ he could meet her eyes. "Believe you me, that was - a long fight," he said, and grinned, and she kissed him just because he deserved it and _she_ deserved it, quite frankly. "But I got him convinced that keeping people in the dark - isn't helping." 

"Duh," Marci said. Foggy didn't move - well, that was fair, she'd worked him over pretty hard last night, poor bear - while she started getting dressed. She wanted the matching lingerie, today, just for the psychological boost: _shit_. 

"Hey," she called, from the bathroom, while she let her moisturizer dry and considered whether today would be a three-inch heel day or whether her hips and thighs and calves deserved a rest, because fucking somebody with a strap on was no joke: "since you guys were sharing secrets, did you come clean? Now that I think of it? Stupid crushes aren't like wine; they don't age well." 

Foggy laughed, hard and mean: aw, she hated that laugh. Had since Columbia, honestly. "What do you think?" he said. He'd stumbled up, and now stood naked in the entrance to her bathroom, watching her with a little lust mixed with regret: boys were idiots. "He was panicking, I was - I was _really pissed off_ \- he was bleeding all over the place, Marci, it didn't really seem like the best time to say _oh by the way I've had it bad for you since law school_." 

"Don't sass me, boo," she said, calmly. Brown mascara today, she thought, with a little creamy eye shadow as a base. 

"Everything's all -" he shrugged, looking miserable and exhausted, which was not the way anyone leaving her apartment in the morning should ever look, she had standards - "everything's all fucked up, Marci, we're struggling enough as it is, it didn't seem like the time. Did you know he said he listens to my _heart_? What's the point - it's not like I have any actual _secrets_ from the guy."

"Oh yeah," she said, "yeah, my cardiologist knows all about my romantic life too, _not_ , I'm just saying, now might be the time to be honest, Foggy-bear."

 

**

He wasn't the first man she'd ever been afraid of: she lived in New York, she was afraid of a lot of men. Men were - they could be dangerous. It's just that _Matt Murdock_ , in particular, hadn't ever triggered her alarm bells. That was a little frightening, and - well, she wasn't going to be embarrassed about it, because hey, so she hadn't been afraid of the blind guy: that wasn't discrimination, that was common sense. She'd assume that Matt was...essentially harmless. 

It had taken more than a little effort to maintain her breezy, casual tone, but she hadn't wanted to look afraid, in front of Foggy. Someone had collated the official footage of Daredevil, though, and of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen - everything that the networks had been able to capture - and it was. _Matt_ was more than a little - he looked vicious. The things he did - Marci hadn't ever _known_ anyone who could do those sorts of things with their bare hands.

 

It took a couple of weeks for her to coordinate something, but she finally cleared everone's schedules far enough ahead of time that she could take Matt out for lunch. So he was a giant weirdo: he was also a painfully awkward nerd, and it really was hard to think of him as _Daredevil_ when he was also the guy who waited for her to order and then ordered the same thing. And spent ten minutes picking at it like she'd somehow had the chance to poison it on the way from the kitchen to his side of the table. 

Actually, considering what Foggy had said - “What's wrong with the salmon?” she asked. 

“Huh? Nothing,” he said. “Um. I am just not really clear on what - on why -” 

“Why I took _you_ out to lunch when I'm dating Foggy?” 

“I didn't know you two were...dating,” he said, with that awkward mix of friendly-puppy and territorial-nutjob that she _definitely hadn't missed_ from Columbia, yikes, yeah, this was one of the big reasons that it hadn't. Well. Okay. Cards on the table, then, and time for some ground rules. She'd put up with a lot, but there was no way that she was letting _Murdock_ play the "I'm a friend you're a booty call" game, here. 

“I want to be dating him,” she said. “Let's be honest, _daredevil_ -”

“This is public -” 

“And nobody will notice unless you make a scene, they'll think it's a cute pet name,” she said, cheerfully. “Quit grabbing me, stop making faces.” 

He stopped, and Marci felt bad. She hated feeling like the bad guy: oh yeah, that was another reason she'd stopped. For her sanity, even though she really, really, really liked seeing Foggy so out of it he practically forgot his own name. Ugh. “Okay, so I was a douche,” she said. 

“Not – not a douche,” Murdock admitted. “Just.”

“I want to date Foggy,” she continued. “Last time I didn't really take the custody issues into consideration, but now that circumstances have changed – I'm older, my style has gotten better -”

“Arguable,” Matt said, and – it was irritating that he was so fucking pretty, because he really could match her asshole-for-asshole thing to say. 

“Your style has gone down the toilet, by the way, you should really let me help you there. Look, just – I want to see him, but I don't want to play tug-of-war, Matt.” 

“Foggy's a grown man,” Matt said, evenly, “and I don't have custody of him,” which was the kind of passive-aggressive cute shit that drove her nuts. 

"I'm going to ignore that," she said, "for my own sanity, unless you really want to have that discussion right here right now." 

He considered it for less than a second. " _No_ ," he said. 

 

**

 

Murdock had always been a little sneakier than Marci - she wasn't judging, she was a little jealous, sometimes, of how he could pull it together - so it didn't really come as a surprise the first couple of times Foggy had to cancel plans. When the excuses were facetious - dog-ate-my-homework style stuff, aliens-in-NYC stuff, ninjas-need-taking-care-of stuff - that's when Foggy was really stuck at the office or handling his family's problems, but when she got an excuse like hey-got-stuck-on-this-case or too-tired-to-make-it-i'll-give-you-my-credit-card-number-eat-for-two, that's when she knew that it was a Murdock problem. 

The second time that happened, she considered simply calling it a wrap, and she considered letting the twenty-two-year-old who'd been unsubtly eyeing her cleavage buy her a drink, and then she gave up entirely and called a cab. She had a little fight with herself on the way to Foggy's place, the whole time she was in the cab, because duh, obviously it was totally unacceptable for him to think that he could lie to her, and it was _insulting_ to think that he thought she believed any of his lies, but also it was embarrassing to admit that she _cared_ about the way he was lying to her. She sort of wound up worked up enough to be mad - for a few different reasons - and not quite sober, by the time she got to Foggy's place and banged on the door. 

He unlocked the door - it was locked? and deadbolted? which was new - and said "now's not a good time, though," and she would've told him fine, call it a wrap, except she'd seen the blood on his shirt. 

Of course it wasn't his. 

Of course it was Murdock's. 

Of course Murdock was lying on Foggy's couch, looking more pathetic than he had in the six years that she'd known him, bleeding from his nose and the right ear and clearly pretty upset about the fact that she was there at all. 

("He got hit on the head," Foggy said, quietly, "and - the - the person who usually - helps with this, they're not picking up the phone. I _don't know what to_ \- "

It was a terrible mistake, but she couldn't let Murdock _die_ on Foggy's couch, which was why she said "but my cousin's a paramedic, and she doesn't care about - your ridiculous problems.")

 

**

 _That_ had been a mess. Ultimately non-fatal mess, yay, go team, etc, etc, but it had been the night that Marci realized that there was basically no way to detach Foggy from Matthew, and Matthew was the human equivalent of the Titanic. 

She'd thought about dropping Foggy again. 

And she'd thought about her empty bed, and the four or five interns (or so - one of them had been a partner) who'd graced it while she'd worked at Landman & Zack, and she thought about how good the sex with Foggy actually was. 

And she thought about the kind of person she wanted to be, which was the gross kind of internal self-contemplation that she really hated doing, because it always led to disruptive life choices and sometimes a path of minor-to-major misdemeanors and felonies. 

That's how Official Date Night got started: she'd told Foggy - in the morning, he was a morning person unless she'd tired him out, it was bizarre still - that she wanted to see him on Friday or Saturday, and "I want you to pay attention to _me_ ," she'd said. 

"You think I haven't been?" Foggy asked, clearly incredulous. 

"No, I mean - I want you to pay attention to me, not where Matt is or whether he's dead or not." Foggy made what looked like a mostly involuntary facial expression - had to keep him off the stand if Daredevil ever got caught, that was going to be a tricky one - and Marci sighed. "I don't _want_ him to be dead, obviously. Look, it's easy - just ask him to come along. Friday or Saturday. Whichever is the least...crime-ridden. Tell him he has plans."

"You want Matt to come along on your date with _me_ ," Foggy said, slow. 

"Tell him to be charming," Marci said. "And to wear a tie. I'm going to be late, I want a kiss for good luck."

"You don't need it," Foggy said, but he gave her one, anyways.

 

**

"You've been practicing your resting face, but when unexpected things happen, you're really obvious," Marci told Matt, mid-way through the first (disappointingly) named Threeway Date. "Didn't you listen to Professor Rumanski?"

" _That_ asshole," Foggy said, and used his glass of whiskey to make his point, whatever it was going to be. He talked with his hands: it was interesting, and also not what Marci would expect from the guy with the blind best friend. "Y'know I almost called Student Services on him?" 

"Nah," Matt said, relaxed for the first time that Marci had seen in like six years. "No, he was right, he had a really good point, I have - I had a bad courtroom face. I fixed it." 

Foggy met her eyes, in the despairing kind of way that only asked for someone to commiserate with: well, shit, she could do that. She remembered that Rumanski had been technically correct and proper, never alone with a female student, but...just on this edge of funny, just on the acceptable edge of mean. That was enough to convince her, even though Matt was right: he'd had the worst public face until sixteen weeks of Rumanski had beaten him into a neutral public face. 

"That doesn't mean he was a good _person_ ," Foggy argued. "I hated that guy, he was a total prick to - oh, what's her face, the little mousy girl - "

"Leelah," Marci said. "Laura? She works for the DA now, I think?" 

"Really?" Matt asked. He perked up a little bit, and Marci didn't realize why until he said, faux-casually, "you think she's. You two keep in touch? I mean, do you trust her?" at which point Foggy elbowed him pointedly. 

"No _shop talk_ ," he grumbled. 

"Agreed," Marci said. "She's a sweetheart, the last time I saw her she was wearing a bra that _did not fit her at all_ , you want a professional opinion? You email me for a reference on the clock: this isn't work time, right now." 

"It's not work, I just wanted to know what you saw in her," Matt protested; Foggy groaned. 

 

***

 

Official Date Night worked...surprisingly well, for all that they had a third wheel along. Marci wasn't ever going to go balls to walls for Matt like Foggy would, but she'd started to see...well, how they worked together, if not why, and they were pretty fucking seamless. 

And there were weird moments of solidarity: she'd had two beers and a whiskey, and in a thoughtless moment (five hundred extra calories, damnit) she'd said "gonna hurt working all of this off tomorrow, though." 

Matt had smirked, and sighed, and said "but at least you don't have to worry about the _steak fries_ , I'm screwed." 

"You loved the fries," Foggy said, and lowered his voice to daredevil levels of barely-audible: "plus I know you gotta heal up that - the thing on your man boob. You need calories for that, my friend."

"My _man boob_ ," Matt said, and wound up giggling like an idiot; Marci tried _very hard_ not to find it charming. 

 

**

 

So there were moments when she got an idea of the human Matt, not the Daredevil or the robotic weirdo kid from law school, and then there were the times that she. 

She'd never _meant_ to feel bad for him: he was a violent vigilante staying juuuuust this side of the law, and to be honest if she hadn't been this stupid over Foggy she probably would've made an anonymous tip. 

And then he pulled shit like this. 

She'd demanded a change, a month in: Weekly Date Night was good, sure, and she was even okay with moving it week-to-week ("so nobody gets an idea of Daredevil's schedule," Matt had said.) but even though they got together as a group, and then she and Foggy went home, it was - she missed getting Foggy to herself. 

"Yeah," Foggy's agreed, when she mentioned it. "I didn't want to. Does it sound selfish? I thought it was a little selfish. But."

"Oh, date night isn't changing," she told him. "I like seeing you two dressed half-way decent: I'm a good influence on your lives. You can take me out to lunch twice a week, though, so I can get you to myself." 

"Yeah," Foggy said, relieved, and eager. 

 

**

 

They realized their mistake after Matt showed up half-an-hour late to Date Night for the third time in a row. 

"The hell, Murdock?" Marci asked, because it was _rude as shit_ , and he didn't even look guilty. 

"You okay, Matty?" Foggy asked, because he would always be a giant marshmallow around Matt. 

"I'm fine," Matt said, sliding into his seat: his ears and his cheeks had gone bright red. That hadn't changed since law school; good to know. "I just wanted to. Give you guys. Space?" 

Marci fought the urge to bang her head against the table. She'd just dyed her hair. She was wearing some nice mascara. Matt didn't have the right to make her freak out. 

"No, Matt," Foggy had already started, gentle and serious, so Marci let him finish before she started, but start she would, damnit. "You're not in the way, bud, it's - we like having you along, we do." 

"Lunchtime is my time," Marci said, smiling bright as a shark, even though Matt couldn't see it. "Date Night is when you get to show up at eight pm sharp, or have a _damn_ good reason to ditch, because the whole point is that nobody has to worry about whether you're dead somewhere." (Had that been cruel enough? If it sounded bitchy enough, Matt probably wouldn't be able to tell that she meant it or was actually _worried_ about him: god, she hoped it would be enough.) 

"Sorry," Matt mumbled, awkwardly. "I. I just thought." 

"I will let you make it up to me," Marci said, magnanimously: "you can buy me something expensive and full of vodka." 

"Gee, thanks," Matt said, but he relaxed into the booth next to Foggy, across from her, and Foggy kicked her ankle lovingly under the table. 

 

**

 

"Hey so," Matt said, a month or so later, looking happy and well-fed and pleasantly buzzed. Marci was starting to get how Foggy - normally so intelligent and even-keeled - had fallen for Matt. He was like those - what-was-it-called, the game theory: there was almost no chance of seeing him happy and relaxed on a reliable schedule, but sometimes you got lucky, and the infrequent, unpredictable days when he went loose and pleased were just enough positive reinforcement to get you hooked. 

Also the ass. The ass was fucking perfect. 

"I can't make it next Friday," Matt said. "So next Friday would be the perfect day for you two to check out that pho place." 

"Junk food date!" Foggy cheered, and winked at Marci, and damnit, she couldn't go around grinning all the time just because her boyfriend was a cutie. That was for teenagers. "Wait, why? Are -" obligatory drop in volume - "criminals penciling you in, now?" 

Matt threw back his head, giggling. Marci bit her lip and made a mental note to grab a cab: it had only taken one time when Matt had declared himself totally fine to walk home. The video had gone viral on youtube: thank god the aspiring film student hadn't gotten a shot of Matt's face, but there'd been a solid thirty seconds of a man in a shirt walking on his hands, tie dangling. Matt tipsy and in a good mood meant ridiculous shenanigans. "I wish they _would_ ," he said. "No, I have a date next Friday." 

Marci blinked. 

She was less than impressed by the idea that Matt could tell if someone was being honest or not: she'd met people who could pass polygraphs without flinching, people who knew all the tricks and shortcuts to use to get the jury on your side. She'd learned some of them, and she was still practicing some of them. 

"Good for you," she said, and made sure that she meant it. 

"Aw, yeah, bud," Foggy said, shaking his head, wry and pleased. "How do you do it? When do you find time to meet these women? Have you figured out how to function without sleep? Wait, do I know her?" 

Matt blushed, looking quietly pleased with himself; Marci buried herself in her white wine, thinking _shit._

 

**

 

That night, at her place, Foggy flopped across her clean grey quilt and sighed in real despair. "I'm a fucking idiot," he told - her? the ceiling? - she wasn't sure. 

"You're not an idiot," she said. "I mean, we both are, but you're not an idiot, it's just. _Fuck_. Why didn't you warn me?"

"You knew him in law school," Foggy said, squinting at her. 

"Back when he was busy being a _dickhead_ to me for stealing your precious time, yeah," she said. " _Now_ I get why you've been hung up on him all these years, this is a disaster." 

"Welcome to the club," Foggy said, and held his hand out for a high-five. Marci didn't even bother to give him the glare he so rightfully deserved, for that: shit like this didn't _happen_ to her, and it most certainly didn't happen _about_ Matt, for god's sake.


End file.
